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Bosnia: A Decade On From War
(Part One)
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By Imran Garda**
Freelance Journalist – South Africa
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Aug
18, 2005
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In
the first of a four part series chronicling his trip to
Bosnia-Herzegovina with international relief charity Islamic Relief,
Imran Garda describes his first impressions of life in
Bosnia, ten years after one of the worst ethnic conflicts in
post-World War II European history ended, and visits some of Islamic
Relief's many beneficiaries.
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Islamic
Relief's Sarajevo office
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Flying
from South Africato Bosnia-Herzegovina is no simple task. It requires a total of 26
hours up in the clouds, mixed with cementing oneself to airport
transit terminals, until you eventually disembark. Thankfully yet
painfully, two of those torturous flying hours included a screening
of "Hotel Rwanda," the factually based feature film that
depicts one of the largest examples of ethnic cleansing in human
history. That systematic destruction of Tutsis by Hutus in Rwanda in the mid-nineties has left an indelible scar on our post-modern
claim to living in the age of reason. This was supposed to be the
age of fair and solidly placed human rights conventions, time-tested
resolutions, freedom, liberty, and enlightenment.
The
mere concept that a people who have historically shared a land and a
culture with each other can so violently attempt to reduce their
neighbors to the memory-dustbins of history by near extermination is
indeed a chilling thought. Hitler and his Nazis' hell-bent
attachment to his beliefs in the Aryan-master-race myth and the
inferiority of the mysterious, unquestionably evil "other"
had similar consequences in modern times.
But
while the world licked at the gaping wounds of many of its
inhabitant's sadistic crimes, Rwanda
wasn't the only country of the world witnessing genocide—there was
also the tragedy of Bosnia. Seen as the sacrificial lambs of modern Europe, the Bosnians,
interchangeably known as Bosniaks and "the Muslims," were
abandoned by those that they trusted to assist them, during the war
waged against them by neighboring Serbia, and for a short period Croatia.
These
people held honesty and integrity as the foremost components
of their personality.
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The
world's powerhouses seemed too sedate for sanity. The likes of
Britain, America, and France allowed the imperialistic,
ultra-aggressive nationalism of the Serb nationalists, spearheaded
by Slobodan Milosevic and his terror-generals, who included Ratko
Mladic, to deliberately attempt the wiping-out of their Bosnian
neighbors—and they almost succeeded.
Four
long, arduous years of pain ensued. Those frightening years
witnessed amputations of limbs, amputation of families, and the
attempted amputation of an identity. A country was under siege,
under the dictates of the snipers and artillery. This was the
reality of Bosnia-Herzegovina. And this is the legacy that lives on
in the hearts and minds of its people today.
The
chance to travel with Islamic Relief into the heartland of
Bosnia
needed no consideration. Their Bosnian office was keen to showcase
their work and the general plight of their war-ravaged people. Field
workers labored tirelessly throughout my eleven-day stay to make
life as comfortable as possible for us visitors, who hailed from
Germany
,
England
,
Pakistan
, and
South Africa
.
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A
Bosnian Islamic Relief microcredit beneficiary
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Our
first "tour guide" was Nermin, a war-veteran whose face
told a thousand words, and whose character indicated many more
life-experiences. A well-built man into his mid-forties, Nermin
introduced me to the first crater I would see in
Bosnia
. It wasn't on the streets of
Sarajevo
or the outskirts of
Banja Luka
; it found it's home on his forehead. A large chunk of Nermin's
forehead looked chiseled out, just above his right-eye, a living
remnant of a Serb shell that had exploded inches away from the then
Bosnian fighter.
Nermin
was a micro-credit loan officer, organizing and collecting loans
from those seeking mainly housing and agricultural loans.
Micro-credit in
Bosnia
was an ingenious plan sprung from the mind of Islamic Relief
Bosnia's head, Dr. Ajaz Ahmed Khan, a doctor of economics, who saw
the need to create sustainable solutions for those who were moving
beyond the need for perishable handouts.
The
concept provides the ideal solution for those widows, farmers, and
returnees to the land, who generally wouldn't be allowed through the
front door of a bank. Islamic Relief's loans operate on
non-interest-based principles, which allow the beneficiaries twelve
months to pay back the complete loan, with the option of a second,
third, or fourth loan on completion of payment.
"Surely
people miss payments and take some liberties with repayment?"
My
question was naughty, but I didn't expect the answer I received.
"We
have over 90% percent repayment. In fact, most of the beneficiaries,
especially the widows, pay back three or four days before the due
date every month."
"I
have strong iman (faith); one must have iman."
– Ismet Comor
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My
question had overlooked a crucial element; I had forgotten about the
dignity of these people, forgotten that they were people who held
their honesty and integrity as the foremost components of their
personality, both as individuals and collectively.
Ironically,
the first beneficiary we visited was a Serb, a resident of the
Republika Srpska, the strange, autonomous Serb state plugged into
the Eastern heartland of Bosnia-Herzegovina. Almost the equivalent
of a separate, post-Apartheid Afrikaner state within
South Africa
.
Nermin
felt he needed to reassure us that the beneficiary, Jovo Kovacevic
was a "good Serb… who didn't fight against us in the
war."
"How
could you determine that?"
"The
neighbors and community inform us mainly who is reliable to lend
money to."
Jovo
had evidently made great use of the loan, with his first cow,
courtesy of an Islamic Relief loan, ushering in more sustainable
funds for her owner by finding some male company at one time or
another. That meant more cows, more milk, and the chance for Jovo to
focus on applying for a housing loan from Islamic Relief.
We
would re-visit the Republika Srpska later on the journey, and it
would be an emotional affair.
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Ismet
Comor walks through Lukomir village
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The
bumpy, mountainous roads that need to be conquered in order to
appreciate the visual delights of
Bosnia
are a joy to behold. The glimmering goblin-green hills of the humid
summer invitingly call to the outsider, asking to be experienced,
calling for their stories to be told, begging for the ambivalent,
impartial eye of the visitor to take its side, crying out for you to
hear of the brave men and women that once trudged along their path,
with little hope for food, water, or comfort, seeking refuge,
escape, freedom in the cushioned embrace and endless splendor of
their hilly enclaves… fleeing from an enemy that hated them for
being different.
The
terrain's lush vegetation gave way to patches of gray rock as we
struggled up Bjelasnica mountain to reach the
village
of
Lukomir
. One of the relief workers from the
UK
office mentioned that if what we previously saw resembled Kashmir in
all it's mountainous glory, the landscape was slowly evolving to
resemble rocky
Wales
.
In
Lukomir, we felt we'd entered a time warp, where pointy straw roofs
covered rickety stone houses, providing what seemed to be fragile
protection for fragile old people. The women scurried to sell us
their gems of knit socks, leggings, and gloves, woven in delightful
criss-crossing colors. A great opportunity for a sale; hardly
anybody comes here. Wherever we looked, we saw cows, dogs, chickens.
The people were bent, thin, devoid of teeth for the most part. The
homes we entered had ceilings a mere
1.8 meters
high; the place could've been built as a set piece for "The
Lord of the Rings" as far as I was concerned. I was expecting
an old Wizard and some hobbits to make an entry at any time.
The
majority of the villagers had been recipients of Islamic Relief's
Ramadan food distribution program, and had also received meat from
the sacrifice of the `Eid Al-Adha ['Eid of the Sacrifice] festival.
Only
thirteen homes made up the village. It used to have a school nearby,
but with less than a handful of its inhabitants under 20, the school
was transformed into a sort of hotel, as there were hardly any
pupils to teach.
In
winter, the area becomes nightmarish for anyone trying to get in or
out of the place. You have to make a quick escape to family or
friends on lower ground before the blustery winds and white carpet
of snow arrived, or else you were snowed in for the better part of
three months.
Supermarket-type
delivery services make hundreds of euros off these villagers during
the winter, airlifting desperately needed supplies and doing
door-to-door "drop-offs" for a small fee.
Eighty-year-old
Ismet Comor, a widower left with no family and no income, told us
how he feared the demise of the village, so prosperous in his youth,
the only place he's ever called home.
Ismet
was a rarity in Bosnia-Herzegovina, for wherever we traveled we
encountered the distinct absence of the patriarchal side of the
family.
"How
do you cope with the difficulties here?"
"I
have strong iman (faith); one must have iman."
Move
to Part Two
**
Imran Garda is a freelance journalist based in
South Africa
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Muhammad Saley contributed additional research to this
article.
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